War of each Against all
by west.egg
Summary: "Bellum omnium contra omnes" The flame of rebellion has flickered, as the Districts fall one by one to the power of Capitol. District 13 is seemingly destroyed. These days are dark but there are far worse to come. The President plays a game of vengeance and power. The first 24 tributes of the Hunger Games play for their life. K for dark/mature themes and violence
1. Forgiven, not forgotten

The surrounding room is ornate, down to the polished marble floor, to the rich, gleaming oak panelled walls. An untouched remnant really, sheltered in the eye of the storm around it. The storm that was the dark days. The storm that is now at its close. All but one of the men around the majestic table looks out of place, some in well-worn yet noticeably once glorious and garish garments and others in the tattered clothing that reflects their broken spirit. The lone match for these decadent surroundings sits at a plush chair at the head of the table, carved with the detail of winding olive leaves in extravagant gold. He wears an immaculately tailored suit of deep purple velvet, a satin vest of soulless ebony and a matching necktie with a simple jewelled pin depicting a majestic lion. He is ageless in the sense of he has been altered beyond the point of recognition. His skin buffed of all flaws until he wears an expressionless plastic mask that gives him a constant look of menacing calm against deep eyes that appear to be entirely pupil. His eyes and mane of fair hair possess the wild electricity of a predator looking upon its prey. President Cicero seems untouched by the tumultuous war, his wealth and power exorbitant as ever before.

A rattle is evident, as 12 of the surrounding men try without real conviction to free themselves of their shackles. Perhaps it is curiosity that holds them back. Perhaps fear. Perhaps even the hope that they will be spared.

"Why are we here…what do you want" asks the hoarse voice of a prisoner.

Cicero answers in a sincere voice with a taut, what is assumed to be a smile, "You are here…to pay for your crimes."

A dark hush falls over the table. With these five words Cicero has condemned them. No surrender…only failure, only loss. They will be executed for certain as the rebel leaders of each district, an example to all of the power and victory of the capitol.

Looks are hastily exchanged among the other five men, shackled not at their wrists but by a weighty bronze badge bearing the seal of the capitol… signifying them as capitol officials, the victors and murderers. Their opinions were of no concern to the President, their morality of no use. All the President required of them was agreement, to his leadership and the treaty he has planned. Challengers could be easily replaced.

"Your crimes…" the attention of the room focused in the sharp, wild eyes of the President "…are severe. And your rebellion will not be tolerated. You have failed, as was always your fate, and it has cost not only the lives of those in the districts but of innocent Capitol civilians…"

"INNOCENT? YOU TREAT US LIKE SLAVES, LIKE MONGRELS! WE ARE…" cries the dark skinned man from District 1, before two men in pristine white uniforms tap him with metallic instruments that send thousands of volts coursing through his veins. The other rebels flinch in disbelief as they watch the horror whilst the Capitol officials convey a mixture of righteousness and fear. The man slumps forward appearing near death.

"Ah yes, forgive me for not introducing you earlier…these young men are at the forefront of a new era…one of peace. Troops are being rolled out to every district as we speak, and so our war heroes can be brought home to much deserved glory and rest. Now that we have peace Capitol soldiers will no longer be required and will be swiftly replaced by a new enforcement agency…known as the Peacekeepers, in the hope that we can overcome the hostility felt in the districts".

The officers; with their swooping helmets and unnaturally white armor, armed with weighty batons and an array of deathly weaponry attached around their waist belt, did not exactly exude a feeling of peace.

Cicero attempts another smile that turns menacing when he reveals far too much of his oddly pointed teeth.

"I am sorry…I truly am that it had to come to this. And I am sure that if we could turn back time…"

"When are we to be executed?" murmurs the hopeless voice of the man from 7, whose hands are marked by years of accumulative splinters from the lumber work forced upon him.

The peacekeepers move to charge their torturous electric devices but Cicero waves them away with the raise of his hand.

"Execution? Forgive me gentlemen if I have given you this impression…no, no, no, I'm afraid not"

The prisoners exchange hesitant glances, the room now heated with a spark of hope and yet also a new and more dangerous fear.

"You see execution is far too easy. Certainly it would mark the victory of the Capitol and the end of your failed rebellion but there is one fatal flaw with this. Humanity. We are a flimsy and forgetful species. If I were to execute you today what would happen? Perhaps for the next 25 years there will be peace and these dark days will be forgotten, a whispered memory of another time. Perhaps another rebellion would stir and what then would happen? Humanity itself may be destroyed"

The President sighs and stirs for comfort in his elegant chair, continuing the fierce smile that does not reach his eyes.

"Humanity, however, does possess a quality that sets us apart from the other species. The capacity to forgive…which I am extending to you now. The Capitol has prepared a treaty between itself and the districts with the aim of peace, and an end to the suffering of the war. We are prepared to forgive the districts for all crimes…"

Disbelief crosses the faces of some of the prisoners. A few look elated at this prospect. The majority display total loss of hope at a punishment worse than death.

"…but we are not prepared to forget. And this will be your payment, to ensure that this will be the last rebellion… to ensure that the districts will never forget."

"Balbus…read" roars the President.

A nervous official stands at the table, his hands shaking as he lifts an elaborate parchment written in the fine calligraphy of a well-trained hand. He breathes deeply before beginning.

'_In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public "Reaping". These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as "The Hunger Games".'_

It was as if a dull knife had been inserted into the hearts of each man. The cruelty of the Capitol had reached its utmost. It was they who had chosen to slaughter the innocent. The peacekeepers edge towards the table to put down an expected outburst. All remain drained by their shock.

"Why keep us alive?" the man at the end of the table remarks in a gruff voice, anger noted in each syllable. The lines in his skin are deepened by the coal that will not wash away. He stares directly into Cicero's unfaltering gaze.

"You don't need us…not if it's our children you intend to punish".

"The children are but an unfortunate cost to the punishment of your districts. It was you who chose this war, and you will pay for with what you hold most dear. So that you never forget what your rebel leadership has caused. Look what it cost your friend from 13".

A vacant seat next to the gruff leader of 12 is all the ammunition the President needs to bring back the recent images of District 13's destruction to those in the room. The smouldering remains were live broadcasted to the Districts, a personal message from the President to the rebel leaders of their loss. They were given 2 hours to surrender or they too would live 13's apparent fate.

"13 could not be forgiven for instigating the rebellion…unfortunate, really, that they cannot participate in the festivities but an example had to be set. If you refuse the treaty you will meet the same end"

"That's why we're here? You want us to sign this?" inquires the quietly intelligent leader from District 3 in the harshest voice he can manage.

"Oh you will sign this, I can assure you… and you personally will mentor the children you have condemned to death each and every year as a personal penance to me for your role in the war"

The leader from 4 with tumultuous sea blue eyes remarks in sneering humour "I'd rather have the execution thanks".

Capitol officials exchange worried glances but Cicero bursts into an odd roar of laughter that permeates the silence of the room. He rises majestically and carries the treaty personally to the rebel leader of District 4, placing it in front of him and offering him the ostentatious fountain pen from his silk lined coat pocket.

"As for your execution gentlemen, well…like all other citizens of Panem…you will die when I allow you to."


	2. The First to Rise

Cicero collapsed into the padded velvet chair that resided behind the large mahogany desk, still cluttered with the remnants of the war. Execution orders long ago fulfilled, operations orders never needing to be approved and numerous files calculating deaths and shortages and costs. The cream atop the milk was, however, a plain manilla file plastered repeatedly with CONFIDENTIAL. The President gathered the file in his hand, eyeing it as would a lion its prey…sharply, possessively, with astute concentration. It was light in his finely boned hands, but its true weight was unimaginable. With this, Cicero thought, the war ended…

_Three days previously _

He was swamped in mounds of folders and enactments, the telephone ringing incessantly with news he did not want to hear, that he could no longer bear to hear. Life grew darker by the day and humanity was a dwindling flame, threatened by unsustainable poverty and death. And this was not even the beginning of his top priority.

For days 13 had had their nuclear weaponry trained towards the Capitol, ready to strike at the city they despised. Cicero had the order decreed to do the same with the missiles they lay just beyond the walls of the city, and noticed far more dark grey hairs in the tooth of his comb. Nuclear war would devastate not only the Capitol and 13, but all districts, and life would be extinguished from Panem. He did not want to enter those precious launch codes, push that untouchable button, and he hoped that Faust in 13 would feel the same. But hope is a dangerous thing, and Cicero did not dare underestimate his cleverest and most cunning opponent.

A young official burst in, with the tired eyes of a 50 year old plastered into an otherwise youthful face. He cleared his throat and straightened his hunched posture before walking with carefully paced steps to stand before the desk of the President.

"For you, President Cicero"

And the boy handed him a sealed file with shaking hands. Cicero pitied him, far too young and bright for this war and his similarities to his own grandson caused him tremendous sorrow and pain.

"Thank you" Cicero replied with a nod of his head and a dismissing wave of his hand that sent the boy racing from his office. Good, he could not bear to look at him another moment.

The envelope itself enclosed a lightweight file and bore numerous marks of importance and secrecy, along with the extended eagle seal of the Capitol. Cicero opened it to find a lone white page marked with a singular word…

**TELEPHONE **

…and below the unmistakable seal bearing an atom garnered by blocks of graphite. The seal of District 13.

The message, though possibly vague to others, was perfectly clear to Cicero. Telephone lines ran from the personal line of the President to every district, though the rebels had successfully disabled this in the very early days of the war. The lines could, however, be opened from the District side for various purposes. Usually to list demands or make threats that ranged from laughable to immensely dangerous. Today the purpose was quite different. The message sent from 13 marked the beginnings of negotiations.

Cicero pushed forcefully the precise buttons "7-2-6-3-6-1-3 "that would connect him directly to the far off threat of 13.

_Click. _Both men are silent for a moment, though the sounds of their breaths are clear to one another.

Cicero will not give him the satisfaction of starting the negotiations. Not even if it was his deathbed.

"_Cicero" _

"Faust, how pleasant to hear your voice again…especially in such defeated tones"

There is no argument, for although Cicero remarks it in awful humour both men know it is the truth.

"_You know why I've called then." _

"It is not often I speak with the rebel leaders, and I can assure you that neither party takes it lightly."

"_You have your weaponry trained on me and my District, Cicero; I don't take that lightly either" _

"Forgive me for using a childish argument Faust, but to be fair…you started it. In fact you started many things didn't you? This nuclear standoff…the rebellion…"

Cicero is plagued by sneering laughter through the speaker held against his ear.

"_Oh my dear President Cicero, we may have started the war but I believe it was you and your decadent Capitol that started this rebellion…" _

"Believe what you will Faust, for it is the victor who decides who is to blame." Cicero replies in dulcet tones.

The laughter abruptly stops and a chill permeates the conversation, for the real purpose has become clear.

"_You think I will surrender to you?" _

"What else did you have in mind? Did you hope I would let you go? Free you so that you can attack? Or what, let you destroy humanity in the burning flames of nuclear war?"

Cicero has devolved from the calm and collected leader, with his witty remarks, to the savage commander who speaks in fierce tones.

"…_I hoped to …negotiate." _

"If you will not surrender, then why should we negotiate?"

Faust has regained some of his confidence with a small cough to clear the uncooperative voice that is leaking through his undercurrent of fear.

"_I wish to negotiate a pact… of non-aggression. With the Capitol." _

Every syllable is strained, as if Faust sincerely wished he was not uttering these forbidden words.

It was now Cicero's turn to laugh an elegant roar.

"You think the other Districts will agree to this 'pact'?"

"…_the pact will be between District 13 and the Capitol." _

The weight of his words is shown through the harsh monotone with which Faust speaks. Cruelty is the tie that runs through them. The cruelty of a disloyal instigator.

"Well…how the tables have turned Faust. Was it just five years ago that I saw you break through the newsfeed on television, to announce to all of Panem that District 13 was rebelling against my Capitol? To ask the other Districts to join you in a unified rebellion? It seems like only yesterday that you called your fellow districts to rebellion. Now I see, only to abandon them."

Cicero enjoys the sting of every sneering word as Faust sighs deeply in a fit to compose himself.

"_As much as you taunt, I know that you don't want it to come to nuclear war…do you Cicero? Because I know that you would never push that button, never fire those missiles, if it could harm the Capitol. But you're not so sure about me, are you?" _

"Desperate men do desperate things…"

"_..Yes we do." _

"Then if I must I agree, I will do so on my own terms. You will disappear, your entire district. The rest of Panem will believe we have destroyed you in a catastrophic bombing attack. I know as well as you District 13 has extensive underground infrastructure…you will retreat to this if you wish to survive."

"_You expect us to…" _

"You will retreat underground to die like the cowards you are Faust…if you want dignity, by all means, cling to your last ounce on the surface."

There is silence for several long minutes but it is evident that both men still hold the receivers to their ears.

"_Do we have a deal?" _echoes through the speaker in removed tones.

"…Yes, a deal. I hope you enjoy the short remainder of your life Faust, in which ever way you choose"

_Click. _

_Present _

One of the oldest surviving legends of the world before Panem nags at the back of the President's mind. It is said that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise shall be the first to die. Cicero allows himself a small chuckle. 13, the instigator of the rebellion, the first to rise against the Capitol. Their fate was sealed long before he signed their execution order. He was sure that those who did not flee under the surface were dead, and those beneath would soon follow.

The door opens carefully and smoothly, revealing Vice President Balbus, looking ever more nervous than the last time he saw him.

"What do you want Balbus, I'm busy…" barks Cicero his eyes still trained on the manilla folder.

"Yes, yes… I know…but…I was told to inform you of the results… of the expedition."

Cicero's head rises and his sharp eyes bear a look of intrigue.

"And?"

"They found only one body above the surface in 13. DNA is being tested as we speak"

The President smiles slyly, which only frightens his vice more deeply.

"Oh there is no need for that. I know exactly who it is. That will be all thank you Balbus."

Balbus backs away to the door apprehensively; only when he has reached the handle does he sum up the courage to ask the burning question.

"If you know sir, might I ask who…"

Cicero offers a simpering look that does not mask the dark undertones that lurk beneath.

"Faust was never one to die without dignity. I made sure of that."


	3. The Odds (Part 1)

I sit on the table that resides just beneath the window of my home. In some ways it is the same, the fine layer of coal dust that blankets the district is there as it always was and always will be. Just as I am and always will be Felix Kerobury. As I will always have my father's dark grey, surveying eyes and his dimpled smile. As I will always have my mother's raven coloured hair and quiet calm. As District 12 will always be my home. I will not, however, always be 5'11, I intend to grow another 5 inches whether my body likes it or not.

For now I am under the control of the Capitol. This will not always be.

I stare through the fine gaps in the ragged curtains that are older than I am.

They are armed heavily with an array of weaponry and technical, torturous looking instruments strung around their waists. And dress in severe white uniforms. Not the usual uniforms of a Capitol soldier. When they first showed up it reminded me of a time when I was in the woods before the war. There was this wildcat, I'm not sure exactly what species, and it stopped dead in front of me. It must have travelled from some far off place. Or maybe it had just never seen a person before. So it just looked at me with curious eyes, not sure if I was predator or prey. Eventually I had to take it down when it pounced but I learned an important lesson. Things tend to fear what they don't know. And that's me now. Staring at these strangers with a mix of curiosity and fear like the wildcat.

For now we have been confined to the little rectangular building in the Seam that me and my family call home.

It has been a month since the rebellion ended. A month since we were defeated.

During the war, once the rebels seized District 11, we were actually pretty well fed. I used to help them hand out the food that rolled in on the trains from our fellow districts. Of course we had to use the trains that ordinarily transported the coal we mine, so sometimes it was a little tainted. But food is food. And it was still better than what we ate before.

I was nine when the rebellion started. After nine years of living off measly food rations I couldn't believe my eyes when that first train pulled up to the station. That night I had my first taste of real beef. It remains one of my cherished memories. The fresh meat supply stopped a couple months ago when 10 was attacked again.

My baby brothers and sister aren't so lucky in a way. Tulip, the youngest, is only four and has never gone hungry like the rest of us until now. Amory is seven and was only two when the war began. I don't think he remembers what it was like before. Augustus is ten. I don't know if he consciously remembers like me, but his body does. He doesn't show the hunger pains like Tulip and Amory.

I slip them bigger portions whenever I divide what little food remains, but it is still not enough. I usually end up giving them most of my food. The hunger pains are easier to stomach than the empty look on their faces that arrives after an empty plate.

My mother sits with them on the cold stone floor, trying in vain to distract them with a guessing game of sorts. They laugh the innocent laughs of a child. I would play when I was younger. But that seems like another life now. I don't know if I have a laugh anymore.

I can still see the pain in my mother's eyes when she thinks no one is looking, like when she is washing the soot out of Tulip's impossibly tiny clothes or attempting to make a meal out of the small remains in the jars spread out in the kitchen. It's not the hunger, it's something far worse. Sometimes I hear her crying at night as she holds Tulip and Amory, sometimes even Gus, tight against her chest as they sleep. Her frail body, strong in the hours of daylight, wracked by sobs. I want to comfort her but I can't. Because I have no comforting words. And because I am not okay either.

The tears that spill out of my mother's kind, green eyes are for my father. Who was blown to bits by an enemy bomb.

And my brother Phil, who was slashed in the neck on an operation in District 13. He drowned in his own blood. He was 18.

And my sister Valerie, who was shot defending our district. It wasn't a clean shot. Lots of shrapnel. They carried her back here, back home. It took her several days to die.

She was only 16.

But I don't say things like this to my mother. She doesn't want to think about my father spread across the ground in pieces. Or my brother gasping as he choked on his blood. Or how long it took my sister to succumb to her wounds. I don't say any of this because although it is true and real it doesn't comfort her. So I don't say anything at all.

There is movement outside now. I can see the foggy shapes in uniforms through the curtains and unwashed window.

My mother notices my distress through the subtle frown that seeps to my face. She turns her head to look at me, sitting tensely by the window, but hides her worry in fear of alerting Gus, Amory and Tulip.

"Felix, what's happening?" Tulip laughs gently at the faces Amory pulls.

"They're moving"

One of the men in uniform barks muddled, authoritative orders and the soldiers now march in pairs down the streets. They begin knocking on doors.

"What are they doing? Are they taking people? Do they have guns? Felix?"

Silence.

Then someone knocks on the door. And my mother squeals. And I back away from the window.

"_Peacekeepers, open up" _

My heart stops. Peacekeepers? These Capitol soldier scum were high and mighty enough to believe they were keeping some sort of peace?

They knocked again, this time more forcefully, barking their command.

This certainly doesn't feel like peace.

My mother is too frightened to move as she still clutches Tulip in her lap. Instead I open the door.

It opens with a creek, as it always has done, but today it reveals strange faces. One of them holds a powerful looking assault weapon to his chest while the other clutches a scanning instrument. Both keep the visors on their helmets down.

"_This is the residence of the Kerobury family?" _

I stand in defiant silence. My mother I think is silenced by fear. But to her credit she stands to face them.

"_Please respond in the affirmative or negative." _His voice is not the affected accent of the capitol. I wonder if he is a defector from the favored districts. I heard that when 1, 2 and 4 were captured some citizens were given pardons in exchange for allegiance to the capitol. Maybe this is why he hides his telling face; his distinctive features would give him away.

"Yes" my mother responds in a hushed voice. I glare at her but she refuses to look at me, in the fear I might say something she would regret.

"_Are the status of the following persons correct; Finch Kerobury deceased. Philius Kerobury deceased. Valerie Kerobury deceased." _

Silence. This is a taunt, a cruel one. My mother seems paralyzed as my brothers hide behind her.

"_Please respond in the…" _

"Yes. They're dead." My response is short and filled with anger. Their absence is everywhere. I don't need a reminder from these idiots.

The man is taken aback by my response. He steps towards my mother with the scanner. She holds out her arm automatically while balancing Tulip on her waist, making me think that this was a normal practice before.

The device pricks a drop of blood from her finger and analyses it. I wonder if it is painful. I have a feeling I'm going to find out very soon. The glass face reads ERICA KEROBURY along with a series of numbers I assume is some sort of sick catalogue system.

He moves to do the same to Tulip, who looks around the room blissfully unaware of what is happening. My mother's and my eyes meet with a shared look of regret. I was stupid. There wasn't enough time. We should have hid Tulip and Amory while we had the chance. Now the Capitol will have them recorded. Marked. Assigned a number. Accounted for. Mr. Peacekeeper has to enter Tulip's details by hand on the machine because there would be no record of her before. She is a child of war, not born into the slavery of the Capitol regime like the rest of us. Not that this matters anymore.

Gus and Amory follow my mother's example and voluntarily offer themselves to be scanned. Both wince when they are pricked by the needle, as my mother rocks a now frightened Tulip in her arms.

The man steps in front of me and I can see now the visor that covers his eyes is pitch-black. I wonder how he sees. Both his teeth are gleaming and his face clean shaven. Maybe he is from the Capitol.

He holds out the scanner but I do not lift my arm. I glare at him through his visor. It makes me uneasy that he covers his greatest tell, that I can't see his gaze. That I can't see his intent.

His partner with the assault rifle steps forward in the squelching sound of new boots.

I thrust my hand outward to be scanned and my new friend with his mysterious visor obliges to scan my index finger. The needle is quick but sharp and draws out a droplet of about the most precious thing I own. My blood.

It only takes a couple of seconds for the display to light up. Except mine's different. It emits a sharp, singular beep.

It displays FELIX KEROBURY. And my precious number 3003196.

And a singular word, flashing on the glass.

ELIGIBLE.

Visor man looks up at me, I think. He looks disheartened. Maybe even a little sad. Which makes me very worried.

"Eligible for what?" I demand.

"I'm sorry but you'll have to come with us."

He moves to grab me but I dodge him. His bulky body armor must slow him down.

Other is much faster and is pulling me out the door by my arm, his gun trained on my chest.

I struggle to get away by pulling and kicking and hitting as the whole world spins. I think I'm screaming. No that's my mother. She's running after me and screaming my name, beginning visor man to let me go but he just takes my other arm and leads me forward.

Amory and Tulip have blindly followed my mother outside as continues to follow me, now at a fast walk because she is leading Amory by the hand and still carries a distressed Tulip at her side. I catch glimpse of them as I turn my head when they scream my name. Mr. Keeping -the –peace- with- my gun pulls me forcefully forward but a glimpse was enough. I see Gus running after me, shouting for them to let me go. My mother follows in a mixture of hers and Tulip's tears. And Amory. Amory just shouts my name. And asks me where I'm going. And if he can come too.

As we turn the corner the street is crowded with other people my age being led by these soldiers, and their families crying out to them, mothers and fathers running after their children. Worst of all is those being led away who haven't got anyone left to chase them.

The hot sun of midday is dimming now, melting into afternoon.

I wonder if they are going to shoot me.

If there is any humanity left they will not allow my family to watch.

The journey seems endless when you know that death waits for you at the end. My mind and body have gone numb but I am miraculously still walking. Instead I focus on my steps.

Step.

Step.

My mother crying behind me, shouting my name.

Step.

Step.

I wonder if I will die quickly.

Step.

Step.

There's Benedict, from my class. His father is beaten down by the soldiers as he tries to grab him away.

Step.

Step.

I wonder what visor man is thinking. I look over and what I see fills me with fear.

Step.

Step.

Were here now. The lot of us, placed one by one into what I can only describe as a pen. Like the ones where animals go before slaughter. I look around and see faces I know from school and fighting and the seam.

But there is only one face I am interested in.

And he's standing right before me. Mighty on a raised platform.

Silence falls. He tends to have that effect.

"Welcome, welcome…"

The President's voice booms through the microphone to permeate the town square.

"…to the first annual Hunger Games".


End file.
